


Chasing Yesterday

by darthauricchio



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, CW: mention of animal abuse (mild and vague), Explicit Language, Fluff, Introspection, M/M, Mostly Eddie's POV, Post-Canon Fix-It, married reddie, they live in NYC now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:40:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29116890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthauricchio/pseuds/darthauricchio
Summary: Richie and Eddie have been married for a few years, and they've settled into a comfortable routine they're absolutely content with.Naturally, the cosmos decides that quaint tranquility isn't in the cards for them, and drops a surprise on their lap - a fluffy, curious, playful surprise.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	Chasing Yesterday

**Author's Note:**

> A short one, again very self-indulgent like everything I write. I am absolutely not used to writing characters that aren't mine, and my fear of writing them as OOC is... almost paralyzing, to be honest. Don't take this too seriously, and if you have criticism please try to express it respectfully.  
> Enjoy!

Eddie hears the familiar rattle of keys turning in the front door’s lock, followed by heavy steps crossing the threshold. Richie’s home, and he’s a little late. 

Must be because of the rain: it’s been pouring endlessly for almost two full days. While the wet asphalt is in itself cause for concern (not to mention flooded manholes or worse, detached tree branches in the middle of the road), it’s the drivers he’s most concerned about. People go absolutely out of their minds when it rains for long periods of time, rushing to the grocery store like they expect having to wrestle for the last can of pinto beans, like that’s going to be what saves them from starvation when the Great Deluge swoops down upon them and forces their families into arks. So they speed in spite of the hazardous weather conditions, lose control of their vehicles, and end up getting someone killed. Eddie should know: he’s a risk analyst by trade, and a worrier by nature. Okay, and by nurture, too - a little bit. He’s getting better.

Still, Richie made it home all in one piece: he can stand him being late if it means he didn’t go over the speed limit just to get home in time. He’s probably taking his coat off, judging by the soft rustling sounds coming from the entryway; he gets up from his spot by the dying fireplace, and goes to check on him - calmly, collectedly. Not expecting anything out of the ordinary at all.

That calm soon evaporates.

For starters, Richie’s  _ drenched, _ and not in a fun ‘I got a few raindrops on my glasses’ way - no, he’s legitimately  _ soaked to the bone _ , with his hair completely flat and stuck to his forehead, his jacket three shades darker than its usual navy blue just from how wet it is, and the pair of boots he’s holding by the laces dripping on the floor enough to form a puddle. Oh, Richie’s clever. Very clever of him to take them off and avoid the squishy squeaking they would have made if he’d worn them. That must be what he was trying to do: he wanted to be sneaky. But the worst part is that he’s not doing it to hide the sorry state he’s in, or to avoid the upcoming rant about pneumonia that he’s  _ most definitely  _ going to get anyway.   
He’s doing it, Eddie presumes, to smuggle what looks like a dripping bundle of raw cotton into their home; a bundle of cotton that is now inspecting the puddle below Richie’s boots and has decided it must be a tasty, refreshing drink.

“Hey, ‘cmon, don’t do that- hi, Eds - no, sweetie, that’s not for drinking,” Richie chastises the dog, barely acknowledging his husband and the shock on his face.   
“Quick question, Richie. What the  _ fuck? _ ”    
“Yeah, I know, all this wet and no pussy in sight.”   
“Shut the fuck up!” Eddie says, but he means ‘don’t make me laugh right now,’ and from the way Richie smiles Eddie can tell he understands. because it’s that smirk he does when he realizes his joke has panned out exactly how he wanted it to. “Just--- what was your thought process, pray tell?”   
“Bold of you to assume there was one,” Richie admits, “but no, I just thought you could use some competition for cutest little fucker in the household.”   
“ _ Beep beep,  _ Richie,” Eddie reprimands him. He doesn’t have to do it so often, especially nowadays that they’re more aware than ever of each other’s boundaries; but this is a serious matter, and Richie doesn’t seem to be taking it very seriously.

“Okay,” he continues. “Give me the details. Did you find it? Get it from a shelter? Or, God forbid,  _ steal it _ ?”   
“Good Lord, Eds, what kind of monster do you think I am?”   
“The kind that brings in a wet puppy and expects me not to have questions!”   
“Okay, okay,” Richie says. He puts his boots aside and picks up the dog, who is happy to be picked up and immediately looks at Eddie with dark, curious eyes barely visible amidst the soaked fluff of its fur. The curious little beastie gives a quick sniff to the warm air of the house it has been brought into, then its attentions focus on Eds, and its wet nose is immediately on the man’s sleeves - no doubt attracted by the intense smell of the fabric softener.

Fuck, it’s adorable.

“See? She likes you already,” Richie grins sheepishly. Eddie’s mouth is a thin crevice in his stern, constrained face, but his husband knows him, and knows he’s about to break. 

Predictably, Eddie sighs.   
“You still haven’t told me where you got her.”   
“Outside.”   
“ _ Where  _ outside?”   
“The Taco Bell parking lot near the 60th.”   
“Why were you at Taco Be- never mind. Richie, she could belong to someone.”   
“But she seems so dirty and hungry!”   
“Are you sure that’s the right thing to tell your husband, a known germaphobe? Are you sure you wanna tell him right now that this dog is dirty and probably full of fleas and ticks and that you’re holding her against your  _ good  _ wool sweater?”   
“Definitely sure, yep. That’s exactly what I wanna do.”

Richie stares at him, adamant and not-so-subtly amused at the same time, and Eddie’s strictness dissipates.

“We have to get her to a vet.”

Richie’s face lights up, and Eds immediately lifts a hand to curb his enthusiasm, halting his train of thought as best as he can.

“We have to make sure she’s not sick, but most importantly that she’s not chipped. I’ll bring my laptop and see if anyone’s looking for her - you get a towel, one of the dirty ones-”   
“On it,” Richie interrupts him, setting the puppy down gently before bolting to the kitchen and into the laundry room. Eddie follows him with his eyes for a couple of seconds before running upstairs to get his things; a few frantic minutes later, they’re driving to the nearest vet, the dog now a burrito of terrycloth.

~

“What’s taking them so long?” Richie says, fidgeting with the zipper of his open jacket. Eddie glances up at him from behind his laptop, but goes back to browsing in search of lost pet reports.

“Dude, X-rays are no joke,” he still replies. He hears Richie give a little whimper.   
“I’m fucking worried, man. Is this how you feel, like, all the time?”   
“Pretty much,” Eddie smiles. “Welcome to my world.”

He’s still a worrier, yes. And as if worrying about himself, his husband, and his dearest friends wasn’t enough, now he’s starting to feel the same way about a dog that doesn’t even belong to him.   
He stares at the search results on a neighborhood community website, and checks them again just for good measure - or rather, to give himself something to do that will make him feel more in control of the situation. Weird, Eddie thinks, how even after so many years of having no bigger threat in his life than a bee getting too close to his geranium while he’s watering it, his mind still goes back to the time he and the Losers risked their lives to protect each other, and put an end to a threat bigger than any of them. For quite some time his brain hasn’t been able to differentiate between minor worries, inconveniences, and the soul-shattering  _ dread  _ caused by It and the horrors they were shown under Derry. Therapy has been helpful, as well as medication, but sometimes he still feels like maybe, despite his efforts, he still has no control over his life whatsoever. And then he spirals.

And then, each and every single one of those times, Richie brings him back to the surface from the dark waters he’s sinking in - with a joke or a smile or a tender kiss on the forehead, saying exactly what Eddie needs to hear to put things in perspective.    
Or, like today, surprising him with something that is,  _ yes _ , out of his control, and  _ yes,  _ absolutely unexpected and panic-inducing; but he still makes it good, somehow. That’s one of the things he loves about Richie. Where his mind could once only see doom, Richie taught him to see  _ potential. _

Eddie stares at him with enamored eyes, and smiles at him.

“How’s the search going?” Richie asks.   
“No ads for Alaskan Malamutes or puppies of similar breeds lost in the past… four months, pretty much.”   
“Have you checked Craigslist?”   
“Why the fuck would I check Craigslist? Who even uses Craigslist anymore?”   
“Where do you think our pouf chair comes from, dipshit?”

Before their bickering can continue, lighthearted as it may be, Dr. Sherazi steps into the waiting room. She seems tired, but relaxed: her appearance is that of a woman who puts up with a lot of shit on a daily basis, literally and figuratively, but from the moment they’d walked into the clinic with ill-concealed panic in their voices and postures, she had struck them as someone who loves and cares about her job, as well as her patients, and that had put Eddie and Richie’s minds a little more at ease.

“Mr. Kaspbrak, Mr. Tozier. Come with me,” she says, and the two of them look at each other with a mix of worry and anticipation on their faces, before collecting their stuff and following the vet to the examination room.

~

So, not microchipped.

Eddie can’t help but be concerned. He knows a thing or two about puppy mills thanks to his job - having studied the related regulations and inspected a few of such facilities earlier in his career - and more than a few hints point to the fluffball in Richie’s arms coming from such a place: for one, she’s skittish around people in scrubs, almost like she has learned to be wary of them in a way she isn’t of other humans; but mostly it’s the fact that a purebred dog such as her isn’t registered nor chipped, and no one seems to be looking for her. As he drives back home with his husband and the dog on the passenger’s seat, he glances at her and taps his fingers on the steering wheel nervously.

“Do you think she ran away?”   
“I don’t know, babe,” Richie replies. “She could have. During transport, I bet.”   
“Mmh. Thought so, too.”   
“What are you thinking about?”   
“Nothing. I mean,” Eddie corrects himself before Richie can tease him further, “I guess if the doctor said she’s healthy, then she must be. But if she really comes from that kind of place there’s a chance she was bred irresponsibly, and who knows what conditions she could be prone to, or if she has any congenital defect.”   
“Eds. Eddie my love. Peanut butter and jEddie time.”   
“That’s new.”   
“Yeah, scratch that, it just sounds like you’re made of jeans.”   
“Okay,” Eddie agrees with a tender smile, knowing better than to question his lover’s thought process. “Did you wanna tell me something or were you just trying to annoy the shit out of me?”   
“Mostly the latter,” Richie replies, “but to be honest I forgot what I was gonna say.”   
“Asshole.”   
“She’s fine, Eds. And she’s gonna get better and better.”   
Eddie frowns for a moment, and glances at Richie. “You really think that?”   
“Yeah, dude! Don’t get me wrong, I know taking care of a puppy is a big responsibility and all. And I know that if we keep her we’ll have to deal with a lot of crap, literally - including health scares and other fun stuff I know you’re not a fan of, and  _ who is, _ by the way? But…”   
“But?”   
“But you’re one of the most caring and loving people I know, Eddie. Sure, you’re an annoying little pest,” and as Richie pauses dramatically to look at his reaction, Eddie reaches for his thigh to pinch it and make him regret his words at least a little bit, “but that’s part of what makes you so good at caring for others. And you’ve come so far in terms of knowing what it means to take care of yourself as well, and… yeah, I know it’s sappy, you can tease me about it later, but I’m really proud of you.”   
As Eddie pulls into the driveway in front of their home and stops the car, an odd gargle comes out of his throat as he tries to swallow the knot Richie’s words tied into it.   
“What’s that?” Richie prods, grinning impishly.

“Thank you, Richie,” Eddie says, and he leans in to give him a quick peck on the lips.   
“Anytime,” he replies. The puppy on his lap looks at them both confusedly, possibly wondering when she’ll get her smooches.

“So can we keep her?” Richie continues.   
“Yes, but I’m not letting you name her.”   
“Ah fuck, I guess we can drop her off to the side of the road then, it’s no fun this way.”   
Eddie shakes his head and gets out of the car. It has stopped raining, which makes it easier to unload the supplies they bought at the vet clinic from the car - which consist of two shoppers full of dog food, mostly. He walks around the vehicle and heads towards the front door while Richie follows along, the dog safe in his arms.  _ Lucky her _ .   
“Is this because you’re afraid I’d name her after your mum?” Richie jokes.   
“Very funny. What an elegant way to call my mum a bitch.”   
“You said that, not me!”   
“You’re so full of shit!”   
“Watch your language in front of the baby, Eds!”

The entryway is still slippery and their boots leave nasty grey prints on the hardwood floor. The mess will have to wait until tomorrow though, as they’re too tired to deal with it - but thank God for small mercies, because the pup falls asleep seconds after eating her first proper meal in who knows how many days.    
Richie and Eddie stare at her as she eats like neither of them can believe she’s real, alive and happy -  _ and in their kitchen _ ; it’s almost a miracle that she has survived out there on her own, Eddie thinks. She has no idea yet, but she’s incredibly lucky Richie was the one who found her. Or maybe she does know.    
Eddie looks at her, then looks at his husband, and once again a fond smile comes up spontaneously to his lips as he stares, enraptured by the vision. Richie said he’s a caring man - and yeah, Eddie can see that, even though he has a hard time thinking of himself in such terms. But Richie is on another level, a beacon of joy into his life, and he doesn’t even realize it. He loves that about him - he loves  _ him. _   
They bring the puppy to a makeshift dog bed made of towels and old blankets, and add a proper bed to the list of things they’ll need to buy, together with bowls, leashes, and of course lots of toys. They weren’t ready at all for this, but somehow it’s still okay.    
The day is out, so different from how either of them thought it would end while they were still at the top of it. Eddie is no fan of surprises - he  _ is  _ a worrier, after all. But perhaps it’s starting to dawn on him that whatever life throws at Richie and him, be it a killer clown haunting their hometown or a lost dog in a fast food parking lot, they can get through it. Together - which is all they’ve ever wanted to be, and exactly what they are now. 

**Author's Note:**

> They end up naming her Gwenpooch. You can pry "comic book nerds Reddie" from my cold dead hands.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
